


Gunslinger Girl Side Story: A Triumph of the Heart Volume 1

by taerkitty



Series: A Triumph of the Heart [1]
Category: Gunslinger Girl
Genre: Action, Angst, Character Death, Cyborgs, Drama, Gen, Italy, Original Character(s), Science Fiction, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 18,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taerkitty/pseuds/taerkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Triumph of the Heart is a series of serial short stories about an OC fratello, Paolo Di Tomaso and Dina. It starts early in the series, prior to Raballo's death. It is written to be faithful to the dark and grim feel of the manga. Volume One consists of the short stories 'Favianne', 'Alessia' and 'Paolo'. Together, they give the background stories for the cyborg and handler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother's Day

**Author's Note:**

> 'Gunslinger Girl Side Story: A Triumph of the Heart' is a series of serial short stories about an original character (OC) fratello, Paolo Di Tomaso and Dina. It starts early in the series, prior to Raballo's death. It is written to be faithful to the dark and grim feel of the manga, so you will not see cyborgs flaunting their abilities in sports or races.
> 
> It is arranged into volumes to mimic the feel of the early volumes of the manga where the events are told in a series of self-contained chapters, and the chapters are presented in a more-or-less serial manner in volumes. In the case of this work, a half-dozen or so short FanFiction chapters will comprise a short story, which would be presented as a chapter in the manga. This is in keeping with my preference for short FanFiction chapters, which captures the page-turning appeal of Yu Aida's work. Each FanFiction chapter will be preceded by its title and the title of the short story to which it belongs. Each handful of short stories will be collected as a Volume, which marks a major advance in the story. Volumes will be appended to this story.
> 
> GsG SS is marked as 'completed' because each short story is appended to it only when the short story is complete. I will add short stories to it as time and inspiration permits. The work itself will not be complete until I've posted the chapter in which they cyborg dies. The work is also constantly under revision, largely based on feedback from readers. The new chapter naming/numbering scheme is one of those changes. Revisions such as this are of lower priority than actually writing chapters, so some of the later chapters in Volume One will not yet be relabeled. Where 'breaking changes' type revisions are made, Author's Note sections will be appended to the chapter.
> 
> Volume One consists of the short stories 'Favianne,' 'Alessia' and 'Paolo.' Together, they give the background stories for the cyborg and handler.

**_Favianne_ Chapter 1: Mother's Day**

The warm Tuscan sun gently woke the large bed's sole occupant. She stretched, blinked and adjusted her alabaster-hued sleep-shirt, it having become twisted and snugged around her torso from her fitful sleep. She was not a beautiful woman - attractive, yes, beautiful, no longer. Before the silk was loosened, her profile testified to a life well-lived, a body slightly softer, rounder than she would like. While still shapely, she knew the days of turning heads in a daring bikini were past.

Almost as if they were listening by the door, two children dashed onto the oaken sleigh bed. "Mommy! Good morning!" "Happy Mother's Day, mommy!" They embraced her with the exuberance only the young could muster.

"Alessia! Alessio! Mm! Mm!" She wrapped her arms around the five year olds and gave each a huge, wet, and loud kiss.

"I love you, Mommy! I made you a flower!" From the pocket at the front of her skirt, she pulled out a crepe-paper and chenille craft, slightly crushed from their hug.

"I love you more! I made you a card!" Alessio produced a card which he had tucked into the back of his pants before tackling his mother. It too showed some creasing with one corner folded down.

"And I made you breakfast, Vi!" With a deliberately over-dramatic voice, her husband entered, carrying a huge tray nearly overflowing with plates, cups, and bowls. With him came the aroma of powdered cakes, buttered croissants, and that wonderful, bracing tang of coffee.

"Oh, Piero! Bless you! The English have no idea what constitutes a real breakfast. But there's so much! You must want me as fat as old Signora Contadino!"

"Only if you'll still have me when I'm as round as Signore Contadino, my love. No, this is for all of us - I guessed you would be too tired for a picnic, so let the picnic come to us!" Piero would never be described as fat. His pajama sleeves were rolled up to the biceps, and displayed arms well-defined and fit. His carriage, his stance, they showed this from his time in the military.

"Daddy, I didn't hear you come in! When did you come in? Did you kiss me?" Alessia bounced on the bed as she squealed.

"Now, now. Let's calm it down. If you do that with the tray on the bed, we'll -"

She was interrupted by a warm chuckle. "You must think me a bigger fool than usual, Vi." He gave a wink and a smile, belying the words spoken in a deep, amused voice. Piero DeAngelis was anything but a fool. As Chief Prosecutor for the province of Arezzo, the east-most part of Tuscany, he could not afford to be.

"Alessia, of course I kissed you. And you too, Alessio. Now, let's use our indoor voices, hm? Piero, if you're going to put it on the dresser, you're going to have to fill a plate for me. After all, it's Mother's Day!" She threw up her arms with a huge smile, and then hugged them again.

In unison, the twins giggled and said, "Indoor voice, Mommy..."

Ξ§§§Ξ

Breakfast littered the burgundy sheets with all manner of cake crumbs and stains. The children, as most do, gorged themselves, and quickly heeded the game console's siren call when the parents started to talk about work.

"So how did your trip go?" Piero asked between civilized nibbles on a croissant, glowing in the sun with butter.

"It was ... pointless, really." Favianne sipped the cappuccino. "They claimed they threw out all the records from when Hong Kong was under their rule. Can you imagine that?"

"Actually, I can." Piero rubbed a finger against his goatee, one trimmed and neat, with bits of grey peppering its dark brown. "I can very easily see them saying, 'It's your problem now, Beijing' and, how do they say it, 'binning it all.'"

"Probably more like 'binning all that bullocks,' I imagine. But, this leaves me back to nothing with those sweatshops and all those illegal immigrants. Well, I'll see if Nicco will fly me to Hong Kong, then. Though, with nothing in hand after this trip, I doubt it." She sighed, and took comfort in another sip. "But enough about me. How about you?"

"The same, the same. Not a lot changed in a week, you know. I have a new shooting to investigate. Well, more than one. One Chinese thug, probably Lo Tze's man. No wallet, so we're doing the usual. Two are ... they're trouble, that's what they are. They're ex-military and Northerners, but not around here."

"Sounds like the one from two weeks ago, then. Only the other way around." She set down the cup on the nightstand and stretched.

"Don't remind me. Rome is still hounding me about that. But that one wasn't two-to-one. It was a slaughter - one of ours for eight of theirs. I'm sure Lo Tze got these two for revenge."

"'Ours?' Don't let Michela hear you saying that. She'll think you turned." Her boss at the _Guardia di Finanza_ was famous for her paranoia.

But is it really paranoia, Favianne thought, given how many were revealed to have ties to the underworld?

Piero started to undress. Favianne never tired of looking at his physique. When he was dressed only in his trunks, he turned and gave her that devilish grin.

She smiled back, but said, "I would, but I just started."

He selected a shirt from the closet. "I'll take a rain-check then. Shall we visit the market?"

"But I thought you said you were bringing me breakfast because you knew I was tired!"

As he adjusted his tie, he said, "Yes, but with such a good breakfast in you, I know you're not tired now."

Grudgingly, she left the bedding's embrace. There in the closet was the flowery sundress she just bought. It'd be perfect for today. "Children! Get dressed! We're going to market!" The cacophony from the living room ceased after a bit, and she heard the stampede up the stairs. "And remember to walk when you're in the house!"

In short order, they were dressed, or mostly there. "Piero, did you see my phone?" Favianne asked while tucking Alessio's shirt in.

"I'll call it."

Silence. It wasn't in the house.

She rolled her eyes. "It must be in my car. Lord, it was so late. I can't even remember when I got in."

Piero said over his shoulder as he walked toward the door. "It was four in the morning, love. No surprise you left it in the car. I'm just surprised you didn't leave your keys as well."

"How would I have gotten in? Help me with Alessio, Piero-"

"I'm ready, Mommy!"

She gave him a kiss on his forehead. "Indoor voice, my angel. And you need to brush your hair."

"Mommy! I can't find Signore Bear!" Alessia's cry nearly rattled the windows.

"I'll be right there. Piero, it's Mother's Day - can you get my phone for me? And help Alessio?" She feigned a helpless look at her husband, leaning against the doorframe with a bemused grin brightening his face.

"Of course! Come, Alessio! Let's play 'hunt for the phone!'" He turned smartly about and parade marched out the door. Their son quickly followed, falling in step behind him.

"How is that helping, Piero?"

"I'm keeping him busy while you help Alessia, Vi. You can thank me later."

She suppressed a giggle as she left for her daughter's room. She'll thank him later, surely. She thanked him now, in her heart.

It was only because they were in the back of the house that she and her daughter were spared from the explosion.


	2. Favianne Chapter 2: Moving Day

**_Favianne_ Chapter 2: Moving Day**

She looked at the neat piles of clothes on the bed. Four blouses, two with flowers, two with teddy bears. Two skirts; yellow and fuchsia. Two pairs of jeans. A brand-new school uniform. Pajamas. Undergarments. Socks. A teddy bear; worn and well-loved. A pretty lavender dress; newly purchased. _She'll look so cute in that_ , Favianne thought. _I wonder if I'll ever see her in it._

She looked at the other bed. A woman's pantsuit; dark blue. A pair of slacks, a blouse; dull grey. Some undergarments. A jewelry box. Favianne opened the rolling suitcase and started packing her things. They didn't fill it.

She started packing Alessia's things in another rolling bag, one free of stains and dents, unlike hers. With each item, a little bit of color was drained from the bedroom, one already deprived of same. When she put away all of her daughter's clothes, she gave the bear one last hug. The tag caught her eye, as did the neat hand in which Piero once wrote her name on it; _Alessia DeAngelis_.

That won't do.

Shortly, her neighbors returned, a trampling of tiny, energetic feet up the dingy four flights announcing their arrival. Favianne opened the door to their apartment. "Rosalina! I hope Gina wasn't too much trouble. Thanks for taking her to the park."

The shorter, darker and wider woman swept her hand across the stairwell, indicating the five other children. "What's one more? And besides, she was a joy, so helpful. I wish my Maria was as good."

Alessia bounced up to them. The knees on her jeans were still brown, in spite of an obvious effort to scrub them clean of the fresh dirt. So were the elbows on her pullover and her hands.

Favianne tsked, "Gina, Gina... How are we ever going to get your nails clean? Remember, you start school tomorrow."

She curled her lip.

"Now, now, none of that. Remember what I said - this is the last time we'll get to see the Acampo family, right?"

"Really, Signora Pacelli, what will I do without you?"

"You'll do fine, Rosalina. And I'll never get you to call me Lia, will I?"

"No, Signora Pacelli." She laughed, hearty and gauche.

After much effort, Alessia was finally presentable. Favianne slowly braided her daughter's long umber-hued tresses.

This will be the last time for a long while.

She tried to memorize how the cool strands felt as they slipped through her fingers...

"Mom? Why are you crying?"

"I'm not, babe. I was just thinking about your Pappy. Your hair is just like his." She blinked rapidly. "And Alessio's."

Alessia turned and hugged her. They didn't sob, but their broken breathing and sniffling each gave the other leave to let go, if only for a little.

_This is such a bad time_ , Favianne thought. _So unfair, and yet I have to tell her_. She cleared her throat. "I'm afraid I have more bad news. Arturo can't go with you."

"Why?" Her eyes, already red, welled anew.

"Shh. You'll disturb Rosalina's baby. Remember why we purchased a new jacket with your uniform?"

"I know, I know. So I will look like a proper little lady at the new school."

"And because Pappy wrote your name on the inside of the old one. Remember, who are you?"

"Gina Pacelli. But..." She looked at her mother, crimson eyes wide in desperation. "Couldn't I just say I have a friend named Alessia DeAngelis, and she gave me Arturo? As a hand-me-down?"

"No, just... no. It's still too dangerous. Instead..." Favianne forced a smile and opened up her dingy and dented suitcase. She easily found the jewelry box. "How about you have this, instead?"

"But didn't Pappy give -"

"Yes, but I think he'd want you to have them rather than me. We'll have to leave Arturo. How about we put him right here, so he can stand guard over both of us tonight?"

"Momma? I think I stopped believing he could protect me from those bad men long ago."

_So did I, sweet angel. So did I._

The morning came early. The alarm under her pillow forced her eyes open. The blinds never did a good job covering the windows, and today they seemed all the more derelict, presenting the pre-dawn sky, inky and cold.

Alessia was already dressed in the school uniform. She was squeezing Arturo so hard the bear's limbs and head bulged. "I just wanted to... just wanted to..." She buried her face in the bear, and took slow, deep breaths. When she looked again at her mother, her eyes were set, her jaw tight. "I'll be brave, Mom. For Pappy and Alessio as well as for you. You won't have to worry about me."

Whatever Favianne was struggling to say was interrupted by the angry and persistent blare of a car's horn. "That must be the taxi, love. Here's your suitcase, and there's your knapsack. Go down there and tell him to stop, for mercy's sake. He'll wake everyone up! Tell him I'll be right down. Now, where is my mobile?"

After Alessia wobbled out the door with her bags, Favianne opened her suitcase and dropped in the bear.


	3. Favianne Chapter 3: Magical Day

**_Favianne_ Chapter 3: Magical Day**

Favianne ended the call on her mobile and stared at it. Unlike her last home, this was bright, new and sunny. For too long, she waited for this call.

Finally, it came.

Finally, Lo Tze would pay.

_Do I call Alessia? Do I tell her?_ She paced, her heart racing. _No, better to tell her when it's done. When we can go home again._

As she packed her few things into that ratty suitcase, her mind thought back to that fateful day...

She was still living in that slum when they approached her. The Office of Prosecutor, as a favor to her late husband, had offered to keep her safe from Lo Tze. Normally, this was done only for witnesses, but they decided that Piero's family deserved this, at the very least.

At first, she and Alessia stayed in a nice villa, a guest of one of Piero's co-workers. However idyllic their stay, it didn't last even a month before they were asked to move. Their next home was a multi-story apartment on the nicer part of town. After a year, the OP sent a man, a stranger. He had heard of Piero, but he wasn't here to talk about him.

An investigation, details withheld, was consuming much of the OP's resources. Could they ask her to...? And so it went over the years. Her home grew smaller and smaller, her surroundings seedier and seedier. After four years, no one at the OP was left who worked with Piero. No one remembered him, or all the risks he took, the gains he won.

After four years, they cut her loose.

For a year, she and Alessia lived in this slum. She walked her daughter through the threatening streets in the morning, worked in the school kitchen by day, and walked her daughter back through now-dangerous streets at dusk.

Six months ago, Favianne read about a scholarship to St. Catherine of Siena. It was an institution of international renown, the highest calibre faculty teaching Italy's scions. It was Favianne's alma mater. Alessia's grades were stellar, and the teachers loved her. Favianne filled out the forms and waited.

For half a year, she prayed each time she opened the battered mail-slot. Then, that magical August day, her prayers were answered. Alessia was accepted - full scholarship! That night, her other prayer, one she dared not admit to even in confessional, also came true. God gave her a chance to strike back at Lo Tze!

These men somehow knew her real name. They weren't from the Office of the Prosecutor, though. They were from the _Lega Nord_ , and wanted the same thing for which she and Piero fought so dear a fight: stability.

Their conversation with her at the bar lasted too late, but her heart was so light, she could not stop. The _Lega Nord_ admired Piero and her own efforts in battling the Triads. All were in agreement - Italy for Italians!

At first, they toasted to everyone born under the flag. As the alcohol loosened tongues, she found herself agreeing with them that Italians weren't just those with the good fortune to be born here, but the ones who made Italy great. Brizio, he worked in the garment industry, and saw the cheap labor and fake labels badly wound that source of Italian pride.

Umberto used to be a _Carabinieri_. He and Favianne saw the world the same way - the criminals, the sheep, and the good. He dared voice what she learned in her time at the _Guardia_ \- the poor, the foreigners, they committed a disproportionate share of the crimes.

Here, Brizio joined back in, having failed to entice a barmaid for her phone number, "Thievery happens at many levels. A pocketbook. A bounced check. A fake handbag. Stolen designs - not just fashion, Umberto! Corporate malfeasance. Bank fraud."

After violently downing another glass of wine he continued on the warpath, "All of it, Italians stealing from Italians. It even extends to the highest seats of the Italian government. Worse, at that level, it's legal. They trade favours, utter lies, and make huge sums of money vanish. Our taxes, gone. Fake projects, huge overruns. Tuscan taxes going to imaginary Sicilian bridges. Marche monies to build government housing for those damned immigrants..."

Favianne pounded the table as loud as the other two. "It _is_ wrong. But what can we do?"

Here, providence smiled on her. See, Lo Tze was one of the problems. He had spies everywhere, not just Chinese but Italians, too. Lo Tze knew the _Lega Nord_ faces. But, what if they found someone who was new, but was trained? Someone who understood that some crimes are beyond what Italian police, bless their efforts, can fight?

Someone who was willing to do the right thing, no matter the cost?


	4. Favianne Chapter 4: Mission Day

**_Favianne_ Chapter 4: Mission Day**

The antique store was musty. Brass adorned whatever was not a richly stained wood. It had a toy section - not shelves, antiseptic and soulless. This was a counter. Intricate locomotives gleamed ready under glass. Stalwart soldiers lay in velvet. Behind the counter was a shop, one free of any modern tooling. Beside the counter stood Favianne, softly talking to the craftsman.

Umberto leaned in the doorway, an incongruous azure tee shirt under a rough jacket styled after US pilots' from the war. His cap he pulled low, not just to avoid the morning sun. He cleared his throat while staring at his watch.

She concluded her business and they drove off.

"Why this shop? And what took so long?" Umberto pushed the Fiat to its wheezing limit, trying to make up for lost time.

Favianne contemplated her lap.

"Hey! If we're going to be partners, you have to be open with me. What were you doing back there?"

Her cheeks seemed to ache as she smiled. "I want that teddy bear perfect. Just perfect."

"You know, we could buy one. Sure, as a 'we're partners now' gift."

She grinned all the more, so much so her vision narrowed. "No, you don't understand. That was my mother's. And mine." She sighed. "It's now my daughter's, though she thought we had to leave it behind. I just wanted to surprise her with it."

Umberto nodded. "You know, this isn't going to be a very good partnership if you keep talking about 'going home', Favvie."

"She's the only one going home. Don't worry. You're stuck with me for a long time."

Umberto was silent for the rest of the drive.

Ξ§§§Ξ

Favianne walked out of the bathroom, into the overbearing marble cavern that was the lobby of the Western Executive hotel. She breathed deeply to still her belly. "I feel silly" she texted. "And it itches." The French maid uniform was starchy and a little too tight. All the other servers similarly dressed were at least a decade younger. And a size smaller.

"Rlx. U look gr8."

She walked into the service area and searched for her cart. She nudged the handle of each one until she found the heaviest one. A quick peek under the cloth confirmed it.

"Okay. Found it."

Trying not to let the strain show, she pushed it into the ballroom. The carpet was freshly shampooed, its muted vermillion nap pristine. The banquet tables sat in a U shape around a data projector on a cart much like hers.

_No, not at all._

_That cart wasn't like hers at all._

She positioned her cart in the corner, just like Umberto said.

"In place now."

"Gr8. R they there yet?"

"No. No one is here."

_Which chair will Lo Tze use? Probably the centre one. After all, this is his meeting._

She shifted the cart so it pointed exactly at that chair. A quick glance showed the ballroom still empty. Favianne quickly reached under the cloth and pulled out the safety pin.

"It's ready."

"Gr8. Go 2 car."

"No, I want to wait."

She stared at the phone, but the message didn't come. _Umberto must be okay with this._

"DONT BE STUPID!" _Okay, maybe he's not._

"I'm not going to kill myself. I just want to make sure it's done right."

"In room is good enuf."

The door opened as she was thumbing the keypad.

"Oops. People are here. Got to go."

Favianne ignored the buzzing in her apron pocket as she smiled and bowed to each person as they entered.

A heavyset man in a finely-tailored gunmetal grey suit took the centre chair. Years of worry left their furrows on his face. Favianne reached for the handle of the cart, but thought better of it. _I'll move it when that bastard sits down._

Gradually, the chairs filled. Two of the attendees were women. One middle-aged, and an older one in a wheelchair. _Odd. They don't look like gangsters._ The older matron looked more like a grandmother, down to the overly-feathered hat. The other carried herself with a regal air, as if she was chairing the meeting. She sat at one end of the U.

By now, she switched off the buzzer for text messages. After scanning through the half-dozen Umberto sent, she tapped out, "Lo Tze must be late. Still waiting." She dropped it back in her apron's pocket and nudged her cart so it pointed at the two remaining empty chairs.

With a click, they closed the doors leading from the hallway. Until then, she was fixated on the gang bosses coming in, paying little heed to their bodyguards. Now, she took the room in fully.

Behind the woman in the wheelchair stood a young girl, almost exactly Alessia's age. Her chestnut brown hair ended just above the shoulders, neatly held in place by a black hairband.

Favianne's eyes widened in horror. _They never said anything about kids being here!_ Then, she spied another child, a teen. Her long blond hair seemed to clash with her severe and business-like suit, tie and overcoat.

She fumbled for the phone. With trembling fingers, she tapped out, "Aborting! Kids here!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Txtsp33k (text speak) is used in this chapter to capture the feel of the English version of the messages. In Italian, shorthand such as 'gr8' wouldn't exist, but it is presumed that the texts are similarly terse.


	5. Favianne Chapter 5: Murder Day

**_Favianne_ Chapter 5: Murder Day**

"Aborting! Kids here!" She set the phone down on the cart.

Silence. Then, under the cloth, a faint beep.

_Five minutes._ She remembered the scarred, hard man in dark glasses warning her. _Five minutes. Once you pull the pin, it's armed. Put it back, and it's safe again. After it's armed, a call to this number will start the countdown_.

She knelt down and put her head under the cloth. It looked the same as when they first showed it to her, a tangle of wires at one end, a cylinder on its side, pointing at the front of the cart. It looked the same, save for one tiny red light. She was sure it wasn't lit before.

She fumbled the safety pin back through the three holes. Midway through her relieved breath, she noted that the light was still on.

Her years with the _Guardia_ came to the fore of her consciousness. "Everyone! There is a bomb in this cart. Please make an orderly exit immediately. I'm not kidding! MOVE!"

The bodyguards had their hands in the usual places, reaching into their jackets or behind their backs. The children had stepped in front of their ... must be their music teachers, as the younger was in the process of opening her expensive musical instrument case. "You two! Get those kids out of here! NOW!"

The bodyguards were professionals. Each team had one person hustling his VIP out the door, while the others formed a wall between them and her.

She had a lot of guns pointed at her.

The kids were frozen in place, each half-turned and looking at her respective teacher. Each teacher had a reassuring hand on the child's shoulder. They were almost mirror images of each other.

_The oddest things you notice when you're in situations like this._

The room was almost empty. That is, except for those two idiot teachers and their wide-eyed pupils.

Favianne fumed. "What the fuck didn't you understand? BOMB! Goddammit!" She ran for the smaller girl, who, in her shock was still opening her violin case.

_This idiot can die here for all I care. But I have to save that kid!_

He stood there, not in shock, but with eyes like steel.

_He isn't going to leave. In fact, he isn't going to let go of that kid._

With a scream, Favianne hauled back her fist.

That's when her torso exploded. The last thing she saw was a strobe light, the last thing she heard, a roar. And that smell...

It couldn't be...

Ξ§§§Ξ

She awoke with her arms restrained behind her. Her belly throbbed. She looked down, and gasped at the mass of red and white spilling out.

A man, blond, still wearing his sunglasses, squatted in front of her. "We caught the other guy. You know, the one you were texting? He said you're the brains behind this. Is that right?"

"No... No, I'm not. This was my first job."

He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at her right knee.

"That's not what he said. So, Signora Brains, who did you get the bomb from?"

"Older man, mid 50's. 55, maybe 60 kilos. 170 cm, give or take. Scarred right side of the face. Dark glasses. Uh... missing index finger on left hand. Naples accent."

"Good. Are you an ex-cop?"

" _Guardia_. Almost ten years." Favianne started to relax.

"Where was he? Where did you meet the bomb-maker?"

"I don't know. Umberto drove. He gave me some stuff to read, so I didn't pay attention. We drove for about an hour."

"Not good enough." He pressed the gun into her knee. "Where?"

"I don't know! Look, I'm trying to help you here. I don't like kid-killing sons of bitches any more than you do."

He pulled the trigger and waited. He waited for her ears to stop ringing, for her mouth to stop screaming.

Very softly, he said, "You have no right to say you hate them more than me."

He put the gun to her other knee. "You're the brains of this pair, right? Admit it. Tell me who your boss is." He pushed it into her leg so hard the barrel broke skin.

"I'm new! I don't know shit! This is my first job!"

He stood up.

Favianne let loose the tears she kept back for so long.

With his other hand, he pressed a button on his mobile. "Jose? Jean. Yeah, your rat was right - she's a nobody. Take him to the safe house and squeeze him. Hard."

With a huge gulp of air, Favianne stopped sobbing. She was about to speak when Jean speed-dialed another number.

"Jose's got the goods. Send me the body bag."

He raised his pistol at her.


	6. Favianne's Epilogue

**_Favianne's_ Epilogue**

Every office has the one person that keeps it running smoothly. This person tends to the most menial of tasks, such as ensuring the copier has paper. This person is responsible for the most vexing of duties, such as identifying people felled by these violent days. This person is tasked the most loathed of duties, such as pestering involved parties for incident reports.

In the offices of the Social Welfare Agency, Priscilla Meleori filled these roles, and any other areas found lacking. Though not normally in the field, for the past week she was away, working out of a cramped van simmering from the heat of too many computers and recorders, receivers and transmitters.

"Oh. My. GOD!" The loud clatter of optical discs crashing to the floor on punctuated her exclamation. The bullpen was in chaos, looking though it barely weathered a Mediterranean squall.

"Hey there, Priscilla. Welcome back." With a lazy wave, a man in a dark vest and a tight crew-cut lowered his feet off one of the desks.

She made a frantic wave, indicating all the tables stacked high with papers. "Giorgio! What is all this?"

He took his time studying the same arc. "Work. Yes, it looks like work to me. Definitely a lot of work."

"Of course it is! Where's Jean? Where's Ferro? They'll be furious when they see this!"

Giorgio gave a snort. "Jean? Angry? How can you tell the difference?"

Priscilla bit back her words. She sighed and started gathering her spilled discs.

Giorgio sauntered over and helped with the cleaning up. "Ferro's with The Chief meeting some high-and-mighty Europol guy. Jean's at the downtown safe house sweating some Padania we caught trying to blow up the Impregilo S.p.A. meeting."

"Oh, the bridge project. That must be why he cut my op short." She pointed to a spot on the edge of her desk, the one with the highest piles of all the desks.

Giorgio placed his stack gingerly on the architecture journal she indicated. "How's Jay working out?"

She gave her usual merry laugh. "He's great. He's a natural out there. Me, I'm just... I'm just more comfortable here. I know Ferro wants us to be flexible and all, but ... never mind." From her chair to her desk she moved another stack of papers, each flagged multiple times with rainbow-coloured paper flags. "Hey, Giorgio? Aren't these your post-incident write-ups? The ones Ferro wanted re-done?"

He gave a wave as he walked off. "Tell you what - there's a good trattoria not far from here. They have great sweets and espresso. I'll get us some, then we can discuss this when I get back."

Giorgio took the cool silence as his leave to do so. He hummed a jaunty tune as he departed for the garage.

Ξ§§§Ξ

Much, much later, his belly quite full of profiterole and their signature trifle-like _Zuppa Inglese_ , he returned to find the lights to the offices still lit, fighting the pre-dawn gloom. He gave his take-home bag a forlorn look, then walked up the stairs, ready to present it to a most-annoyed Priscilla.

Instead, he found the desks all cleared, and her hunched over her laptop in rapt attention. He cleared his throat and rustled the bag.

"Just a minute. Just a minute." She didn't hold out a hand to wave him back, so his curiosity enticed him closer.

Her monitor was strewn with crime photos from the recent bombing attempt. The device, the scene, the bomber, the functionaries and executives saved. "Oh, her. That's the cut-out the Padania was using to get the bomb in. Way too old for that dress, isn't she?"

Normally, Giorgio would tease everyone that way, with little statements to lightly rile. Theirs was an intense environment, and a little barb like that often defused the atmosphere.

Not this time, though. If anything, he sensed her tense up a little more. Her keystrokes grew louder, faster. "Did I say something wrong, Priss?"

"No." This word was almost spat out. "No more than usual, anyhow."

Giorgio was about to say something, anything to defend against this hereunto-unseen Priscilla when she stood, still staring at the laptop.

"Goddammit, Jean! Shooting everyone isn't the answer!" She stormed off, sending the bag of sweets onto the floor.

Though he'd never admit it to anyone, Giorgio had to admit to himself that he was frightened of this new side to their long-suffering and good-natured intelligence analyst. He was a man of priorities, however. First, he recovered the tiramisu. Then, he stole a look before he locked her screen.

He was about to go searching for her when he heard the drone of her scooter peak and taper off. Trying to follow a scooter in Rome's early-morning traffic was impossible.

Which left him with the question, "Who is Favianne DeAngelis?"


	7. Alessia Chapter 1: The Arrival

**_Alessia_ Chapter 1: The Arrival**

As the cab drew away, Alessia gave her mother one slow, final wave, forced a smile, and quickly turned to face forward. She hoped her mother didn't see the tears. The driver looked over his shoulder at her, but didn't say a word the whole two hours' drive to the school.

St. Catherine of Siena's well-husbanded grounds lifted Alessia's spirits slightly. The ivy-covered outer wall guided the taxi to the ornate and well-aged, remotely-controlled gate. Past that, the slightly-inclined main road to the mansion was lined with trees, through which she could see dawn's marigold glory. She knew it wasn't true, but she felt as if the sunlight was drying her tears.

The taxi neared the main house. The aristocratic structure was large, but evidently not large enough, given the two gleaming steel-and-glass wings sweeping back from it. It glided to a stop in front of the stairs, where two women stood waiting. One was in a greyish-blue skirt-and-jacket business suit. She was wide, her grey hair was worn in a bun, and her weathered face seemed made of stone, so motionless was it. The other wore a flowing white blouse over a bright red skirt. She waved energetically as they drew near. Beneath her blond hair, her eyes were narrowed to slits from her smile.

As the older woman told the driver where to take Alessia's suitcase, the younger one hugged her as soon as she was out of the vehicle. "So you're a Gina, just like me! Welcome to St. Cathy's!"

The other woman gave her a quick glare. "Signorina Maulucci, please."

She blushed and nodded. "Yes, Headmistress. Welcome to St. Catherine of Siena International School for Girls. I'll show you around. Let's go!" She took the small girl's hand and started running. Alessia had little choice but to try to keep up.

Ξ§§§Ξ

Alessia sat on her bed, somewhat dazed. The school was sprawling, with all manner of physical education resources - swimming, horseback riding, and dance ... all activities Alessia remembered from her distant past. Or perhaps remembered being told about it as she and her mother clung together while the times grew darker and darker. To banish that thought, she turned to look out the window.

Outside, a sea of grass greeted her. It rippled in a slight breeze as if it were water. It was lush, it was healthy. Compared to her last home, this was a utopia. Everything here was clean, was new. Even the smell was that of crisp trees, not the faint stain of mold.

It gave her hope. Even though her eyes still ached and her throat was sore, she at least didn't feel that seizing of her heart. _This will be a good place._  She closed her eyes, smiled for the first time, and inhaled deeply.

A knock on the door woke her from her unexpected nap. She opened the door to see an older girl with wavy red hair and blue-green eyes holding a wicker bowl overflowing with flowers and candies.

"Gina? Are you Gina?"

Alessia nodded. "Yes, I am. And you are...?"

She laughed. "Standing in the hall. Here." By handing over the gift basket, she enticed Alessia to let the door open wider. She peered in. "Wow, still haven't unpacked? Oh, I'm Bobbie, Bobbie Sutherland. I'm from the U.S."

"Wow, your Italian is perfect." Alessia accepted the basket and turned to put it on the desk by the window.

Bobbie nudged open the door, stood in the doorway, and looked all around the room. "Not close, I'm afraid. I still get laughed at when I have to read in class. Italian is a beautiful language, but some of the people..."

"We're some of the most generous, most kind, most ..." Her voice caught. "Bravest." The candies spilled as she quickly set the gift on her desk. She kept her eyes staring out the window.

With two lithe bounds, Bobbie was beside her. "It's okay, it's okay. That's why I'm here. I'm going to be your  _sorella_ , your older sister here. It's okay to cry." She let Alessia bury her face into the shoulder of older girl's dark-blue uniform jacket.

"You have to think I'm a..." Alessia verged on tears, but willed them back.  _I will be brave._

Bobbie kissed her scalp. "Relax, Gina. The first days are the toughest. It's a St. Cathy's tradition for an upper secondary student to be a big sister to a new student. Do you have a big sister? What was she like?"

"I don't have any sisters." Unbidden, she was reminded of a moon-faced boy, perpetually smiling, with tousled hair in the same hue as hers. "I ... don't have any brothers, either."

She gave the smaller girl a hug. "Well, you have one now! Let's get you unpacked, shall we? Dinner's coming up."

Ξ§§§Ξ

"... and my mother is working far away, so she sent me here. Uh, Signorina Maulucci? Can I sit now?"  _Please?_

"Of course, Gina. Now, class? I expect everyone to be as nice as you can to her. This is her first time going away to school." She riffled through some papers. "Now, about your history reports..."

Like this one, the three other morning classes blurred by. The two small cakes Alessia grabbed on her way to class didn't stay her hunger, so she found herself quite hungry once Maths was done.

The mansion's ballroom was converted into the cafeteria. Like the hallways leading from the New South Wing into the Main Manor, the lunch room was an incongruous melding of the Barocco and the modern. Below paintings done by The Masters, atop an antique table, they placed the chafing dishes atop a custom-cut layer of glass.

In contrast to the marble floor and velvet drapes, the tables and chairs were starkly modern - gleaming, graceless and austerely functional. Each table sat two with comfort, four if each took a side and was careful. Some were lined together so groups as large as ten sat and giggled between delicate, dainty nibbles.

Alessia sat alone, leafing through her Geography text. She marveled at how each page crackled when turned, how the edges were so clean as to cut her finger were she not careful. The book's cover was free of dents and scratches. It was the first new book she had seen in...

Mid-bite, she was approached by a girl she saw in two of her classes. This newcomer was beautiful - blond and slender, her hair in neat curls and her makeup perfect. "You're Gina, correct?"

Alessia nodded and swallowed. "I'm sorry, I forgot your name..."

"Vincenza. Vincenza Caltagirone. Come sit with us." Then she turned and walked back to her table. She said something to a student sitting next to her chair, and the other girl slid over a seat.

"Thanks!" Alessia quickly packed her book, then followed her, taking the place recent vacated.

Vincenza studied her. "You're a quiet one. So what does your mother do?"

"She used to cook. She was very popular."

Another girl, also quite pretty, asked, "In what city? Was it a famous restaurant?"

Alessia blushed. "Oh, it's not that. She used to cook for us at my last school."

An uneasy silence met her answer. Vincenza pondered this. "So how did your mother come to send you to St. Catherine's of Siena?"

Acutely aware of the importance of her answer, Alessia said, "She attended here when she was my age." Sensing everyone relaxing, she added, "And I'm here on an honours scholarship, too."

A smile spread across Vincenza's face. "Do you know what we call that kind of scholarship?"

Alessia shook her head. "No, what?"

"A pity scholarship."

 


	8. Alessia Chapter 2: The Animosity

**_Alessia_ Chapter 2: The Animosity**

In the afternoon sun, Alessia sat on the bed, knees to her chin. Her uniform's pleated skirt rode high, but she was alone in the room. It seemed so sterile, so cold to her. Yes, the walls were in a light hue of lime, and the carpet was lush and thick, but her happy thoughts at seeing them were from a different age.

Looking back, she regretted her retort, but it seemed so fitting at the time: "I thought it was because I was smarter than you." Perhaps it was worth it to shut down all the laughter about her being on a "pity scholarship." Perhaps it was worth it to see the look on Vincenza's face. Perhaps.

The laughter, the disdain, the catcalls, they immediately followed. The rest of the day, Vincenza and her followers teased Alessia without quarter. She was shoved, she was tripped, and her white blouse was lined with ink from Vincenza's coterie running into her 'by accident'. She learned to take the back row, lest spitballs be lodged in her hair, or objects dropped down her back.

"My name is Alessia DeAngelis. I will be brave. My name is Alessia DeAngelis. I will be brave." She kept mouthing these words, lest her lips press together and ... "My name is Alessia DeAngelis. I will be brave."

By now, the sun had long since set, and the room was dark save for the patch of moonlight stealing in through the window. Alessia still sat on her bed, still reciting silently her mantra.

A knock sounded politely at her door. Fearing it to be more of Vincenza's lackeys, she huddled closer. It sounded again, this time louder, faster. "Gina! Are you in there? It's Bobbie! C'mon, open up!"

_I'm not going to cry in front of her._  "Yeah, I'm here. I just don't feel well, okay?"

"Was it the other girls?"

_Yes_. "No, I just feel ... sick. It wasn't anyone's fault."  _Telling her will just make it worse._

"Okay. Just... if it does turn out to be one of the other girls, tell me, okay?"

Silence.

"Just think about it, okay? Please?"

"Okay."

Ξ§§§Ξ

In spite of the ample grounds, St. Catherine's pool was situated on the top of the New North Wing, under a round skylight that reminded Alessia of the ornate greenhouse at the Liguria Botanical Garden. The water was heated, and the glass slightly fogged from the cool autumn-turning-into-winter morning. The sun was still rising, not yet visible from the water itself, but the sky was slowly yielding its gloom.

Most of the students were in the dining hall, breaking fast. The remainder were sleeping in, later to avail themselves of an early bagged lunch. Alessia had the pool to herself.

This was her refuge. The past two months were a hell, one Vincenza built just for her. The past few weeks, she started each day with laps in the pool. Swimming reminded her of her mother - no matter how difficult their finances, no matter how tired they were, they always went to the public pool every Saturday morning. Swimming reminded Alessia of her mother, not how much she missed her, but how much she loved her.

She would play, she would work out. She would try to holder her breath longer and longer. She would try to find a coin at the bottom. The pool didn't have a springboard, which was her one regret. Still, she tried to make the largest plume she could from launching herself into its inviting warmth.

As she finished her lap, her heart fell as she saw Vincenza and two of her gang, Domenica and Sofronia. All three of them had their arms crossed and the same sour expression contorting their faces.

Warily, Alessia brushed the wet hair from her eyes. "Uh... good morning?"

"Get out of the pool."

"Why? I mean, is it time for your class to use it?"

"No. You don't deserve to use it, that's why." Vincenza spat in the water.

Alessia pushed back from the edge, treading water far enough away to be out of arms' reach, but still close enough to talk. "But the rules said the pool was open from six in the morn-"

"You don't understand, do you? You didn't pay for this pool, so you don't get to use it. Now, for the last time, get out."

"Did you pay for it? What makes you so special?"

"My tuition paid for this pool! Dom and Ronia's tuition did, too!"

"So? I'm here on a scholarship! If your tuition paid for this, then the same with me!"

Vincenza squatted down, caring not a bit that her skirt rode up. "The difference is, you parasite, that my family's taxes paid for your scholarship." She flicked her thumbnail against her teeth at Alessia, stood up, and stormed out, her two lackeys following in formation.

Alessia swam two more laps, but the sourness in her belly wouldn't cease. With still half an hour left, she crawled out of the water. "My name is Alessia DeAngelis. I will be brave." Soundlessly, she mouthed her creed as she showered and toweled off.

Only when she went to put on her uniform did she discover it was cut into strips.

 


	9. Alessia Chapter 3: The Accusation

**_Alessia_ Chapter 3: The Accusation**

"My name is ... My name is ... My name is Alessia DeAngelis."

These words she spoke with quivering lips as she sat cocooned in her blanket on her bed. Her wet swimsuit lay in a heap by the door. She had her pajamas on, but this didn't stop the shivering because none of this stopped the memories.

Alessia wasn't cold - she shivered from hearing echoes of all the jeering in the halls as she raced back to her room. First there was just giggles when she was able to wrap herself in a towel. Then, a group of girls, Domenica among them, mobbed her and ripped away that last vestige of modesty, leaving her in her bathing suit.

As if planned, everyone held out their phones and started taking pictures and filming. The air was filled with the ersatz shutter noises, then chirps, beeps, and buzzes as a hundred thumbs started posting those pictures and videos to however many social networking sites they could.

From the top floor of the New North Wing down to the ground floor, then across the gardens behind Main Manor, and up to her floor on the New South Wing, she was greeted by the same - catcalls and laughter, insults and jeers. And constantly the cell phone cameras.

"I will be ... I will be ... brave."

_Oh, what's the use?_  In spite of her promise, she sobbed into the pillow. The sourness in her heart and the weight on her shoulders banished any sense of time. Alessia didn't know how long she was crying when she finally became aware of the insistent knocking on her door.

"Hey! Hey, Gina! You in there?"

She quieted down until all she heard was sniffles.

"It's not good. I know you're in there. I hope you're dressed, because I'm coming in!"

A deft swipe of her student identity card, and Bobbie defeated the lock. She flowed into the room, then shut the door.

Alessia saw she was still the object of ridicule - some gawkers still patrolled the hall outside her door, but Bobbie shut it before they could get their cameras into position.

"Hey, Alessia. They missed you in class today." Bobbie set her book bag down.

Alessia looked out the window, surprised to see the sun was already descending. She said nothing.

"Hey, it's not all bad. Look at it this way - you're probably the most ... okay, that's not a good thing." Bobbie paused. "How about this - you know who your real friends are, right?" She gave Alessia a warm smile, a genuine hug.

The younger girl initially tensed, but willed herself to ease into the older one's arms. The tears, once loosed, flowed freely.

Ξ§§§Ξ

The moon was shining steady, and curfew was almost upon them when Bobbie and Alessia returned to the lower secondary student's room. They each carried a large laundry hamper of clothes, ones that Bobbie and her classmates had outgrown. Uniforms, athletic wear, and an assortment of jeans, shirts, slacks, blouses and sweaters.

Signorina Maulucci stood outside her door. Her face had lost its usual smile. Alessia stammered out an apology for missing her class, but in mid-word, Vincenza stepped out from behind the teacher. The blond demoness looked up at the young woman.

Signorina Maulucci cleared her throat. "Signorina Pacelli, a word please?"

_I will be brave._  Alessia set down her hamper and patted Bobbie's arm, then stepped forward, leaving the older student standing gape-mouthed.

The walk to the Headmistress' office was icy, but Alessia found a sense of calm in her. It was not to last.

Like Signorina Maulucci and Vincenza, Headmistress Giordani was still dressed in her day's clothing. She tapped a thick folder. "Signorina Caltagirone," she nodded at the other student. With a disappointed pout, Vincenza left.

Once the three of them were alone, the Headmistress glowered at Alessia. "What is your name?"

"G-G-Gina Pacelli, Headmistress."

The dour-faced rotund lady pursed her lips and gave a non-committal nod. "I see. And did your mother attend Saint Catherine's of Siena, Signorina Pacelli?"

Very nervous and suddenly wary, Alessia nodded timidly.

"Yes or no, Signorina Pacelli?"

"Ye-yes, Headmistress."

"I see. And what is her maiden name?"

Alessia blinked. "Her what?"

Signorina Maulucci patted her shoulder. "What was your mother's name before she was married, Gina?"

Alessia tensed in spite of the gesture. "Uh, I don't know. We lived by ourselves for so long..."

Headmistress Giordani tapped the folder again. "Well, I don't recall Lias in my time here. And Signorina Caltagirone," she inclined her head toward where Vincenza once stood, "had her household's head of security look into the matter. Do you know what we found?" She leaned over the table at Alessia.

"N...no. I don't. Know, I mean."

"We found nothing, Gina. If that is really your name, that is. Your mother's name is a lie. When were you born, Gina? Which hospital?"

"Uh... Uh... I don't remember?"

"And your mother never said? That's unbelievable!"

"Uh, Headmistress?" Signorina Maulucci held tighter onto Alessia, as if that would protect her from the older woman's fury.

"It matters not." Headmistress Giordani gave a token nod of her head. "Admit it! Your mother never attended here! Saint Catherine's of Siena does not graduate maids and dishwashers."

"Uh..." Alessia stammered. "Uh..."  _What do I say?_

The Headmistress gave a grim smile. "It doesn't matter. Your mother lied on the application form, so I'm expelling you from this fine institution. Also, I've taken the liberty of calling the  _Carabinieri_. I'm sure they'll be happy to help investigate this case of fraud."

"No! Wait! All right! I'm Alessia DeAngelis! My mother is Favianne DeAngelis. She was a police officer, and my father was... was... Piero DeAngelis. He was a lawyer - he fought criminals."

The Headmistress scoffed. "You don't actually believe expect me to believe you, do you? Signorina Maulucci?"

Alessia spun around, looking for comfort in the teacher who welcomed her so warmly that first day, seemingly so long ago.

Signorina Maulucci looked stricken. Her gaze bounced back and forth between the young girl and the older woman.

The older woman cleared her throat. "It doesn't matter, Gina, or Alessia. You can be Saint Mary for all I care. I'll let the _Carabinieri_  figure it out. In fact, I think I hear them now." Headmistress Giordani leaned back in her chair.

The room fell silent as everyone listened to the drone of the engine draw closer and closer.

"That's odd," Signora Maulucci said. "That sounds too small to be a car."

The Headmistress merely shrugged.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway.

Alessia wished she had said good-bye to Bobbie.

The door flew open.

"Headmistress! I was told you'd still be here. I need to talk to Gina Pacelli! It's urgent!" Only then did Priscilla allow herself to catch her breath.

 


	10. Alessia Chapter 4: The Autognosis

**_Alessia_ Chapter 4: The Autognosis**

"So? What happened next?" Bobbie leaned so close to Alessia she was about to topple onto her lap.

The younger student giggled. "I really don't know. Signorina Meleori, uh, I mean Priscilla, she had a bunch of papers and she showed her wallet to them."

Bobbie's brow knitted. "Wallet? Didn't she have a purse?"

"No, no, it was a wallet like my mother use to have. It held a ... she called it a shield, but it looked like a badge."

"Oh! She was the  _Carabinieri_ , right?"

"No, I don't think so. Headmistress Gorgon, "Alessia giggled, "she was really, really, really quiet after that. She and Priscilla and Signorina Maulucci whispered a lot, then Signorina Maulucci walked with me back here."

Bobbie flopped back onto the pillow. "How strange. It's almost like out of a  _telenovela_." She laughed at Alessia's puzzled look. "Spanish television shows - lots of crazy stuff like this."

"Wow, you know so much!"

The older girl nudged Alessia's leg with her foot. "C'mon. I don't even know your real name. Is it Gina, or Alice?"

"Alessia, but only my mother calls me that. She says it's our secret that bad people are looking for us." Alessia looked stricken. "Can this be our secret, too?"

Bobbie laughed. "Of course, silly! Gina it shall remain! I'm just annoyed you didn't trust me earlier." Her expression grew somber. "But ... are you still in St. Cathy's?"

"Signorina Maulucci told me not to worry about." Alessia regarded the moon, full and serene. "Oh my gosh! It's after curfew!"

Lithely, Bobbie slid off the bed and set her hand on the doorknob. "I've been here six years and haven't gotten a demerit yet. Not for breaking curfew, anyhow. Good night!"

And with that, she was gone.

Ξ§§§Ξ

The next few days found Alessia in much lighter spirits. Vincenza and her cronies still wreaked their mischief, ruining her books, mocking her online, belittling her in class. However, even their venom seemed lessened, perhaps because Alessia knew Priscilla somehow held even the Headmistress in check.

Saturday arrived with the chiming of the dormitory telephone. Alessia swam free from the sea of paper and books that was her last waking memory and reached for the annoying device.

"Si?"

"Gina, you have a visitor at the Headmistress' office."

"I'll be right there!"  _Mother!_

One shoe still untied, she bounded up the stairs. Domenica and a few of Vincenza's lackeys were standing in a hallway, but Alessia was so fast they didn't have opportunity to block or trip her.

She stopped in front of the Headmistress' door, panting. _I was so brave, Mother!_  Then, she saw herself in the trophy case's mirrored back.  _I am so messy!_  Quickly, she tucked her blouse back into her skirt, straightened her collar, and tied her shoe...

The door opened mid-way into her preparations. Signorina Ricci, the school secretary, gave her a warm smile. "We were wondering why you weren't coming in yet. And Headmistress said to remind you, 'No running in the halls.'"

Alessia nodded. "Yes'm." She hurried in

Priscilla stood there, arms wide, face bright with a smile. Seeing Alessia's expression, she asked, "What's wrong? I was hoping you'd be happy to see me!"

"Oh, I'm sorry Signorina Meleori. I was hoping you were my mother."

Priscilla blinked, and her mouth opened and closed twice, wordlessly. "Uh, I'm sorry, Gina. Uh, Headmistress, can Gina and I be excused? We'll be in the Old Dorm, as I said earlier."

The walk over to what was once the servant's house was peppered with banal attempts at conversation. "How do you like it here?" "What's your favourite class?" "Is Wednesday still International Day in the cafeteria?"

As Priscilla fumbled with the key, Alessia asked, "Why here, Priscilla?"

"Well, isn't it an adventure? I bet you had never been here before, right?"

Alessia nodded. "It's not spooky. I heard it was haunted, but I'm not afraid."  _I will be brave_.

"Ah!" Priscilla triumphed over the lock and opened the double doors. She reached into the darkness and flipped on the lights, what ones still working. With a twinkle in her eye she mounted the stairs, beckoning Alessia to follow. She led them to a room on the third floor, used another key on the ring and easily unlocked it. Some furniture framed tents under dusty plastic drop cloths.

They coughed as they flipped the overwraps free. Priscilla patted a chair. "This was my room when I was your age, did you know that?"

Alessia blinked in surprise. "So you ... did you..."

"Know your mother? Yes! In fact, she was why I joined  _La Guardia_ , did you know that?"

Alessia shook her head.

"So, Signora Giordani said you're still doing  _la sistema sorella_ , right?"

"Uh-huh! My older sister is Bobbie - she's really nice and wants to be a scientist."

"Well, mine was somebody named Favianne Romano. Ever hear of her?"

"Romano? Oh, wait! That's the maid name thing, right?"

Priscilla laughed. " _Maiden_  name, Alessia." She studied the younger girl. "Or do you want me to still call you Gina?"

"Well, you worked with my mother at  _La Guardia di Finanza_ , so I guess you know that we're hiding from some bad people. I'm supposed to use Gina." Alessia frowned. "But I trust you. Can you call me Alessia?"

"Of course! But, I have to be honest - I didn't work with your mother in  _La Guardia_. She was my sorella, so by the time I graduated, she was already working in a much different department, doing much more important jobs. I always wanted to, though." Priscilla's face clouded.

"Uh, Priscilla? Do you know where my mother is?"

 


	11. Alessia Chapter 5: The Assassin

**_Alessia_ Chapter 5: The Assassin**

Amadeo Conti leaned back at the break room table and ran his fingers through his disheveled dark brown hair. "So what did you say, Priscilla? That Jean shot that poor kid's mom?"

Priscilla tried to kick his chair out, but he lowered himself before her foot struck. She stared at him. "Amadeo! Must you be so cruel?"

Giorgio grinned at her poor attempt to fell his partner. "It's not being cruel, Priss. This place does it to you. I mean, look at -"

"You don't have to make it worse!" Priscilla stood up and grabbed her lunch tray.

"Wait! Wait! So what did you say?"

She stopped and her shoulders sagged. "I lied. I said Favianne was working undercover with some terrorists and she was doing something very important. I told her that her mom asked me to visit her. What else could I say?"

Before either man could speak, she spun around and glared at them both. "Don't say it!"

In unison, they raised their hands in surrender.

Ξ§§§Ξ

Every Saturday thereafter, Priscilla made the two hour drive to St. Catherine's to visit with Alessia. And each week, she spent trying to think of a way to tell the poor girl the truth. Unlike the time she and the others collaborated to create a story for one of their other young charges, this time she was solo. Everyone was too busy, and, if Giorgio and Amadeo were any indication, she could expect no help from anyone.

At some point, Amadeo and Giorgio discovered her errand and insisted they come along. Security, they said. Priscilla smiled to herself.  _Maybe they aren't utterly stone-hearted after all._

After a delicious store-bought picnic, Priscilla stood. "All right, boys. Alessia and I have our little secret clubhouse to go to, don't we?"

"Uh-huh!"

As the men started to get up, Priscilla held up a wagging finger. "Uh-uh. You are going to pack up the leftovers and clean up, otherwise you will feel the wrath of Signora Giordani. I'll see you at the car in an hour." She turned to leave with Alessia.

Amadeo asked, "What are we supposed to do in the meanwhile?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something." The ladies took a few steps, then Priscilla stopped. "Amadeo? Don't do anything stupid, will you?"

Giorgio spoke up. "Don't worry, Priscilla. I won't let him."

When they were in Priscilla's old dorm room, Alessia could hold it no longer. "What did you mean about Amadeo doing something stupid?"

Priscilla gave a laugh. "It's a running joke. Amadeo is a great guy, an honourable man. But we work with a lot of younger children and ..." She turned to Alessia and thought for a moment. "It's kind of a grown-up joke. Okay?"

"Okay." Alessia fiddled with her shoelace.

After an awkward silence, Priscilla cleared her throat. "Alessia? I have some bad news about your mother." She studied the young girl's reaction, and was surprised at how little there was.

"The bad people found her?"

"Yes."

"Is she okay?"

"No, dear. I'm afraid not." Priscilla got up from her chair and walked over to the young girl, hugged her and let her cry. Priscilla's own eyes misted, and her breath caught. She bowed over Alessia, and joined her own tears.

Her lungs burned, and Alessia started coughing. Priscilla looked up and saw smoke streaming in from the vent.  _Fire?_  She guided Alessia to the door.

It was stuck.

She huddled down by the base of the door with the younger girl and dialed her mobile. "Amadeo? We're in the Old Dorm. There's a fire and our door is stuck. Can you help us, please?"

"Holy! I'll be right there!" He rang off.

"Okay, Alessia, it'll be okay. Just stay calm." Priscilla pointed at the gap between the bottom of the door and the threshold. "We can get fresh air from..."

It was blocked.

Her arms started tingling and her head started to throb.  _Poison!_

She grabbed a drop cloth. "Alessia? Listen very carefully, okay? I think that smoke is very, very dangerous. In fact, I think it's better that you don't breathe it at all. I want you to cover your head with this, and hold it tight. It'll be all right, okay?"

Alessia nodded and held still as Priscilla enveloped her head with the clear plastic and tied it in place with her scarf.

By now, Priscilla's fingers were numb and her arms were like lead. She managed to hit the redial. "Amadeo? It's bad. I think we've been set up. It's poison gas, and ..." She coughed. "Please hurry."

The phone fell from her hand. The smoke filled the room. She patted frantically for the other drop cloth as her vision grew gray. Her arms and legs flopped about.

Out of the mist, she saw Alessia crawl over to her, untie the scarf and take the plastic sheet off her head, careful to keep it closed and free of the noxious fumes. Priscilla saw her exhale into it, inflating it slightly. The older woman tried to object, but her mouth was just slack, her limbs unresponsive.

Alessia carefully slid the wrap over Priscilla's head and tied the scarf around her neck to hold it in place. The little girl kissed her cheek through the plastic and said, "It's okay. I promised my mom I'd be brave."


	12. Alessia's Epilogue

**_Alessia's_  Epilogue**

Priscilla's room was like any other hospital room: white, sterile, and stark. The end table was brightened with balloons, flowers and stuffed toys. Alternating shifts, Amadeo and Giorgio stayed vigil by her bedside the whole week while she recovered. They even completed their incident reports.

Giorgio put away his cell phone. "Lorenzo's here. Are you sure about this, Priscilla?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Do you want me to stay? For emotional support?"

"No, this is something I need to do alone."

Giorgio nodded and gathered his book. He held the door open for Director Lorenzo and Doctor Bianchi, then departed.

"You're looking better, Priscilla."

"Thank you, Director." She nodded toward Doctor Bianchi. "How is she?"

"She scored very high on the suitability scale, in spite of the neuromuscular damage. She's on life support, though. Some of her internal organs are on the verge of failure. However, there seems to be no signs of brain damage."

Priscilla shook her head. "No, Doctor.  _How is she?_  Is she comfortable?"

"She's in a medically induced coma, so I guess you can say she's comfortable. She's not in any pain. If you're asking about her prognosis, I don't think she'll recover from this, no."

Director Pieri Lorenzo cleared his throat. "I don't think that's what any of us expect. And I don't think we'd be here if she were to recover." He regarded Priscilla solemnly. "You realize what you're asking isn't saving her in any way, right?"

Priscilla nodded.

"And some people would say that what you're proposing is actually worse than letting her die, right?"

Priscilla nodded.

"Guilt is a very poor reason to turn this girl into an agency cyborg, you realize." Director Lorenzo's expression prompted Priscilla for something more than a nod.

"It's not guilt - I mean, it's not that simple."

Doctor Bianchi looked out the window. "I'm sure she'll be a very good cyborg, Priscilla. But you realize we don't have a free handler, so ..."

Director Lorenzo nodded. "You have your own duties, so it's not like you can take her as your own."

"I know. I know! It's not that. I ... there was so much I wanted to tell her about her mother, about how she was famous in  _La Guardia_  for all she did. About how important she was to me. About ... about everything."

Doctor Bianchi looked back at her. "We still haven't found the right conditioning mix. Whatever you say, she'll forget eventually."

"I know. I know that, already!"

With a frustrated look, Doctor Bianchi yielded to Director Lorenzo, who shrugged. "Just keep her on life support and we'll see if our next handler will consider her."

Priscilla struggled to sit up in the hospital bed. The monitors started to alert from her exertion. "No! I'm not saying to take her in ... to take her in to save her. I'm not doing it for her. I'm doing it for  _me!_  Please, this is very important to me."

Director Lorenzo gestured with wide-open hands, "I understand, Priscilla, but we have protocols-"

"Do it or I tell the team about Gibraltar."

"Done." Director Lorenzo turned to Doctor Bianchi. "No. Don't ask."

 


	13. Paolo Chapter 1: Two Brothers

**_Paolo_ Chapter 1: Two Brothers**

Paolo Di Tomaso rose before either his cell phone alarm or the hotel's clock-radio made a sound. He fumbled with it, trying to turn it off. Failing that, he set it to 3PM.  _I'll be checked out by then. Hopefully, I'll still be alive by then._  With well-practiced efficiency, he ejected the battery from his cell phone. Even turned off, they can be used to track him. He knew this well; normally he did the tracking.

Dawn was just starting to paint the sky maroon-peach, and by that light alone, he changed back into his traveling clothes - a woolen jacket with elbow patches, a scratchy sweater, high of neck, sturdy boots and trousers. He folded his pajamas and laid them over his Hugo Boss suit in his garment bag. He checked his Beretta 90-Two, verified the modifications were in place and custom rounds were in the magazine.

With a fair bit of planning, he managed to devise an itinerary that required an overnight train transfer here in Belluno, Italy. Nobody at his office with the  _Carabinieri_  could know about this errand.

Ξ§§§Ξ

An hour's ride into the countryside and a hundred euros poorer, Paolo stood outside the farmhouse, as directed. Overgrown weeds to either side could hide many men. The windows were boarded, the paint peeling. The wind vane pointed south, as if to warn him away.

He fished out a pack of chewing gum. The paper wrapper was stolen by the wind, but he pocketed the foil inner wrapper. "I'm here. Let's get started."

From within, a chair's creaking escaped. "Drop your bag. Come inside, slowly."

Paolo nodded, though he saw no one, then did as bade. He didn't struggle when they pulled a musty sack over his head, nor when rough hands pulled his up while others frisked him carefully.  _One of them must be very tall,_ was all he thought.

"If you're looking for my pistol, it's in the bag outside."

Someone grunted. The person holding his hands over his head used them guide him forward, then seat him on a stool. His hands were freed, but he felt the stiff and cold barrel of a pistol at the nape of his neck.

"Look, all this gangster-movie nonsense is unnecessary. The only person who matters, I already know what he looks like."

"Yes, brother, but they are very nervous people. They have to be, with you being  _Carabinieri_  and all." There was a flatness to the voice, almost as if...

"Dino, you're not even here, are you? After I go to all this trouble. I hope you're using an encrypted signal."

His brother laughed, and a slight crackle as he did confirmed Paolo's suspicion. "Paolo, Paolo. Only seven minutes older, and you always think you're smarter than me."

"Not smarter, just more careful. Though, I have to give you credit for all this." Though he couldn't see if they had a camera, he still shrugged and swept his hand as if he was speaking face-to-face with his brother. "So..."

"Paolo, you were the one who left the mark, who signaled we needed to talk. My time is pressed. What is it you want?"

Paolo took a deep breath. "I'm changing jobs -"

"Congratulations."

"- and it may complicate things. Between us, I mean."

"How so?"

Paolo could imagine his brother's face, left eye narrowed in concentration. That was one trait they didn't share. "Well, it's a high-security job. A deeper background check. I'll probably be followed, wiretapped. We probably can't meet like this anymore."

"I don't think I ever signaled for a meeting, ever. I don't think I'll miss you. No, not at all. Is that all? I'm very busy."

Under the sack, Paolo sucked his lower lip as he debated silently. Keep a vow, or risk a life? He tried to phrase his response.

The speaker boomed as Dino rapped on his microphone. "Well? Is that all you came to say?"

"Look, I know you went to a lot of trouble to make this new life for yourself. I guess I'm just here to warn you that the background check may include looking at how you, ahem, died."

"That's fine. You'll be amazed what money can buy these days."

Paolo tensed, took a deep breath. "As I was saying, how you died. They'll probably investigate everything in my life, treat me like  _I_ was the suspect. Search warrants, LDTs, interrogations. DNA tests, -"

"Wait."

_Shit._

"You said, 'LDTs'. What are those?"

Paolo readied himself. He made a vague gesture with his left hand, and slipped other into his pocket. "Lie detector tests. You know, -"

"Answer this carefully, and remember your promise to Mama. Will they ask about me?"

"I can't be sure. I -"

"Let me be clearer. Can you guarantee that they won't find out about me?"

Paolo lowered his head. As he guessed, the guard behind him followed with the pistol. He felt the combination tac-light/laser mounted to the rail of his Beretta 90-Two brush his collar.  _They watch too many Mafioso movies. What could be more clichéd than shooting someone with his own gun?_

"Dino, I can't. I'll try to keep you out of it, I'll do my best. You have my -"

"Paolo, our word has always been our bond, and I want to say one last thing. When I said I would not miss you; that was while knowing you were alive out there. However, I will miss you after this. Truly, I will." Dino gave a heavy sigh. "Goodbye, brother. Tell Mama I love her."

 


	14. Paolo Chapter 2: Two Blows

**_Paolo_ Chapter 2: Two Blows**

The school bus stopped at Via Fosso Ghiala by the rail crossing to disgorge some of its charges. At some point, trains stopped the two story building, so it might have made sense for the students to continue their journey home by train. However, this station was closed years ago, the windows boarded and the doors locked. A small shed nearby with an overhanging roof now served as the bus shelter on rainy days.

Dino and Paolo Di Tomaso started on their one-kilometer walk back home. They smiled at one another, and checked the time in unison. A week ago, for their eighth birthday, Papa gave them each a Bulova watch, one with a link-and-clasp band. They made a trip into the center of Ravenna to have the excess links removed, which Papa then made a huge show of storing them safely in the twin velvet-flocked cases. The gunmetal-and-gold watches were the envy of the school, never mind the fact that Mami tried to talk Papa into forbidding them out of the house.

"Oue! You two!" Alfonse Podesta and his cousin Emilio stepped out from behind a tree. Dino was looking out the window as they approached, taking in the multi-hued autumn leaves in the  _Parco Regionale del Delta del Po_. He didn't see them then, so this wasn't a chance meeting. The two older boys strode up, dressed not in school outfits, but jeans, boots and t-shirts. Emilio had a small box on his bicep, held in place by a rolled-up shirt sleeve.

The twins backed up, their faces contorted in nervous smiles. "Alfonse. Emilio. Uh, how are you?"

Alfonse snorted. "I heard you two have some nice watches. Emilio and me, we just wanted to see them."

Dino didn't like the emphasis on 'see' Alfonse gave. Still backing away from the advancing teens, he held up his hand and let them see the wristwatch.

"No, you dumb-ass!" Emilio took a step forward and stretched out his arm. "I mean to look at it. Up close. And not on your goddamned wrist."

"Yeah, take them off. We just want to look at them." Alfonse gave a wide grin, so wide his eyes narrowed.

Paolo pulled his brother's arm down. "No… no. The clasp is stuck. On both of them."

"Oh, really? So that's all we get to see? I told you, Alfo. Those two brats aren't going to let us hold them." Emilio lightly grasped his cousin's elbow. "Let's head back." The turned around. Alfonse gave a wave as they headed up the street.

Dino relaxed a bit. The two teens were well-known in their suburb for being troublemakers and thieves. Their families were poor, but they had the latest in game systems, movies, and phones. Dino worried he and Paolo would never see their watches again. He relaxed, but didn't turn around, didn't turn his back to them. He finally exhaled when they turned and walked into the forest, near the trees from when they originally appeared.

That is, until they heard the deep and angry barking mixed with the teens' braying laughter.

Ξ§§§Ξ

Dino steadied himself against the tree, panting.

Paolo grabbed his elbow. "Come on! We have to keep running!" He kept his voice low, but his glare made his words no less urgent.

"Why?" Dino shook his arm free. "What's the point? They'll catch us. We can't outrun them."

A crashing in the woods warned them Alfonse, Emilio, and their mongrel were nearing the copse of trees sheltering the twins. Paolo looked up. "Yeah, you're right. I have an idea." With a smile, he turned to his brother.

Dino was already climbing the gnarled tree. He laid on the branch and extended an arm down. Quickly, quietly, they mounted the limbs until they were as high as the roof of their home.

The teens burst out of the trees, the dog still on a lead. "Lucien! Where are they, boy?" Luckily, the dog wasn't trained to hunt. It pulled them past the tree sheltering the Di Tomasos.

Just as Dino started to look for a way down, the teens were led back to area. Again, they rushed past the tree.

This time, Dino waited, fear pooling. His dread was confirmed when the older boys again appeared at the base of the tree.

"Dammit. That idiot dog lost them!" Emilio aimed a foot at Lucien.

Alfonse jumped in front of him. "Don't kick my dog!" Lucien snarled at Emilio, then pulled at the lead again. "Come on! This way!" Alfonse started to follow.

"Screw this. I'm heading home. You follow that stupid dog if you want. I'm done." Emilio started off into the setting sun.

Alfonse made to follow, but Lucien continued to press on the other way. "He's right, Lucien. They got away. Let's go home."

The dog ignored him and continue to scrabble at the ground, trying to get purchase.

Alfonse sighed. "Okay, you win." He let go of the leash. "Go get them boy! See you tonight!" He turned and called out to Emilio, "Hey! Wait up!"

Ξ§§§Ξ

The full moon gave the boys enough light to carefully pick their way down from the tree. They started for the glow of the road when they heard it again. Barking. Approaching. Closer.

They nodded in agreement, catching the determined glint of one another's eyes in the moonlight. Quickly, Paolo shed his jacket and sweater, then ran off into the woods.

After he donned them, Dino turned to face the thunderous barking, now loud like thunder. Or was that his heart? His mouth dry, he tried to swallow. Strangely, his mind drifted back to when they waited in the tree. Why did he choose 'paper' instead of 'rock'?

Lucien tackled him, pinning him to the ground. It snapped at him, and his arm burned as the animal's jaws bore down on him, as if the extra layers of clothing weren't there. It found firm purchase, then whipped its head side to side, trying to uncover his head and neck.

Between snarls, it bit at him again and again, each one making him scream in fright and pain. In spite of the padding, its bite found skin, its teeth spilled blood. Then it launched itself toward his chest, powering through his arms. Pinned by its forelegs, Dino could see it readying to make that final bite.

His eyes clenched shut, he heard a shrill, angry cry from his right. The dog fell away from him. He heard snarls, barks, then a yelp and a whimper.

Forcing his eyes open, he saw Paolo standing over the cowering animal, a tree limb half his size grasped in his trembling, tiny hands. In the moon's glow, Dino caught a glimpse of a sheen over part of it. Only a glimpse, though. The club flew again, and the animal expired with a soft and wet-sounding thud.

Their clothing in tatters, their skin broken and scraped, Dino and Paolo limped the kilometer home, their watches firmly in their pockets.

 


	15. Paolo Chapter 3: Two Secrets

**_Paolo_ Chapter 3: Two Secrets**

The district prosecutor was a friend of the Di Tomaso family, so he extended them the courtesy of arranging for Gregorio's arrest to be done quietly, respectfully. Two  _Guardia di Finanza_  officers accompanied Signore Pisani on the appointed hour. Gregorio Di Tomaso greeted them at the door, his wife Bettinia sobbing in a huddle with the two ten-year old boys. Pleasantries were exchanged, an offer for coffee politely declined, and stiff, parting hugs shared.

With an apologetic "Ciao," Signore Pisani quietly closed the twin oak doors. No sirens heralded their departure, no click-flash of paparazzi assaulted what shredded dignity the Di Tomaso family had left. In the dim anteroom, Mama whispered something reassuring to the twins. Something, but what?

Frustrated, Dino looked up from his cupped hands.  _Why can't I remember?_ Now nineteen, he and Paolo crowded into the hospital room. Paolo paced, three steps in one direction, then three back. The tiny room did not allow for any more. Dino slumped in the single chair wedged between the bed and the window.

Bettina lapsed in and out of consciousness, and sometimes lucidity. Some awakenings would be punctuated by screams of pain, others cries of fear. With some of them she would know where she was, how ill she was. Other times, she would be bewildered, demanding why she was in hospital.

_At least she always recognized us,_  Dino thought, his lips pursed. He turned to Paolo and whispered, "Remember when they took Papa away?" At his brother's nod, he continued. "Mama said something right after Papa left. I can't remember what it was."

Before Paolo could answer, Bettinia's weak voice stole their attention. "I said, 'We have to be strong.'" She fought for a breath. "I said, 'All we have are each other, now.' Now, you boys have to be the strong ones."

Dino nodded, swallowed, and dragged a sleeve across his eyes.

She continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "You are all each other has now."

"Mama! Stop!" "You'll get better!" "Yes! It'll take some time, but you…"

"Paolo… Dino." She coughed weakly. "You both mean well, but you have to… have to face the future. Face the… the truth. Lying doesn't help."

"Yes, Mama." "Yes, Mother."

"Promise me … this world, it's full of lies. Lies are what locked away papa." She gasped, wheezed. "You can't avoid lying, not in this world. But you must not … must not lie to your brother. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mother." "Yes, Mama."

"Promise me."

The two young men took turns, raising their hands, reciting what she last said. However, she had fallen asleep again. Only this time, it was final.

Ξ§§§Ξ

_I'm getting tired of hospitals,_  Dino thought. This time, Paolo laid in the oversized bed, all manner of wires and tubes connecting him to a forest of electronics and lights.  _Still, it could have been so much worse._  Everyone was saying how it was a miracle he survived the accident, crashing through the barrier and off the clifffside road.

_How much can one person bear?_ Mama gone, Papa jailed, and now his twin, more dead than alive. Dino looked at the crumpled piece of paper once more.  _So much money!_ Times were bad, and the Office of Student assistance was of no help, not even a job lead. Both he and his brother were unable to pay for their tuition, and the scholarships they earned barely paid for the books.

Their beautiful house was sold to pay for Mama's hospital bills.  _What good is being accepted_ by  _the prestigious Università di Camerino if we can't afford it?_  They pawned their prized Bulova Accutrons to pay for the first year, but the promised larger scholarships failed to arrive.  _What about the plan? To redeem Papa's name?_  Another thought seized him.  _How will I tell Papa this Saturday?!_

Before this could depress him further, a matronly nurse knocked on the doorjamb and gave him a kind, but tired, smile. Time to leave. "Good night, Paolo. See you tomorrow."

The walk to the flat took another hour, but what else did he have to do? There was no point in looking at the study material. They were going to be dropped for non-payment. With a fatigue not of the body, he retrieved their mail. The mailboxes were in such disrepair that he didn't even need to unlock his - the door was bent outward enough he could just pluck the letters out.

Bills, bills. An advertisement for a vacation he could never afford. Dino froze, his breath stopped and his throat tight. The last letter was penned in the precise block printing he shared with Paolo. It had no return address, but he knew it was from his brother.

_Dearest brother,_

_By the time you read this, I will be with Mother. I want you to know that this was not an accident, but a sacrifice. My life insurance money will be enough for you to become the lawyer we both dreamed of being. Do not be sad for my death; be happy that I am with Mother. Live on for me, restore our name, and free Father from jail._

_And, before you do, make sure to get our watches back._

_With love,_

_Paolo_

Ξ§§§Ξ

"Where's your brother?" The guards at Rebibbia Prison were gruff, but over the years, they grew accustomed to Dino and Paolo's monthly visits, and in their own way, welcomed them.

"He's sick, sir. Thank you for asking, though. I'll be sure to tell him."

The guard gave a grunt, then pointed at his book bag. "You know you can't bring that inside."

Dino nodded. "Yes, sir. Can I leave it out here while I visit?"

"Not our fault if something happens to it."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

After the usual processing and delays, Dino sat in a tiny booth opposite his gaunt and red-eyed father, separated by thick glass. There were no holes, no way to even touch. At once, they both picked up their handset.

"Paolo?"

"I'm Dino, Papa. I'm the more handsome one, remember?"

"Where's your brother, Dino? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. The guards are pissy today, that's all. They're not allowing us both to come in."

"Did you say something to them?"

Dino hung his head. It was difficult to look into his father's eyes and lie, so this was a better way.

"Dino, Dino. You have a smart mouth, you know that? It'll get you into trouble when you're older. It'll make you a great lawyer, but it'll get you into a lot of trouble."

Dino swallowed. "Ah... about that. I'm not sure we can, Papa. The scholarships aren't enough to ... to..."

Gregorio slapped his palm against the glass. "Listen, Dino." He looked to either side, then sighed. "Listen. Do you remember the bar back in Monticelli, La Piccolo Angelo Azzurro? Ask the bartender to meet Signore Pirazzi. Tell him my name, and that if he helps you and Paolo, all debts are paid? Do you remember all that? La Piccolo Angelo Azzurro? Signore Pirazzi? Do you?"

He was so intense, Dino was leaning back in the chair. Never before had Papa been so ... so focused. It was frightening, in spite of the centimeters of glass between them.

"Send in Paolo. Quickly. They record these calls, and if they ... just send him in!"

Dino nodded, then walked quickly out the visitor's block. Back outside, he picked up the book bag. "Pardon me, sir? May I use your restroom?"

The guard grunted. "Over there."

As fast as he could, he changed into his brother's more somber hues, fumbling with the buttons and straightening the collar.

"What's going on?" The guard looked at him warily when he returned from the bathroom, his old clothes stuffed into the backpack.

"My brother is sick, but I didn't want to worry my father, so ... I'm him." Dino gave a hopeful smile.

This time, the guard actually laughed. "I don't know if I would want a son as good hearted as you, or as sneaky! Go on in!"

 


	16. Paolo Chapter 4: Two Bodies

**_Paolo_ Chapter 4: Two Bodies**

"Signore Di Tomaso?" The  _Carabinieri_ officer cleared his throat. "So you can see our difficulty. I was wondering if you could help us."

The photos showed something vaguely humanoid in shape, but otherwise nothing that could be called human. What the fire didn't claim, decay and insects rendered unrecognizable as flesh. The ribs, what parts not charred and stunted, were tinted by their interment.

Paolo swallowed, unable to avert his eyes from the pictures. "I ... I don't know. I think it was two years ago, the last time we saw each other." He couldn't even blink. "You ... you say he's been dead for four months?"

"With the body in this shape, it's hard to be certain. We're only here because the source said he was your brother. Otherwise, we would have no way to be sure. If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't even had known where to dig."

Paolo forced his eyes closed. "Take them away, please. The pictures." He shuddered. "How can I help?"

The other officer, a female, nodded and said, "Well, we don't have any way of identifying the body. It could be your brother, or it could be ... that someone else out there is wondering what happened to a loved one."

"Well, we used to live in Monticelli. Dr. Lanzavecchia was our dentist. Would that...?"

The two police officers looked at each other. "I think that will be very useful. Again, our apologies and condolences." They stood up and each shook his hand. "The medical examiner will contact you when we can release his remains, Signore Di Tomaso."

When they were gone, Paolo went to his desk, opened the center drawer and picked up this month's stipend check. On the memo line, in all-caps so regular the penmanship could be mistaken for printed ink, was written  _for dental work_. He thought back to that meeting, two years ago.

Ξ§§§Ξ

"Paolo, that was an idiotic thing to do!" They sat in the back of a crowded bar. The band was worse than usual, and tried to compensate with enthusiasm what they lacked in skill. The air was stale with sweat and soured hops. They had to shout into each other's ear to be heard, but didn't have to worry about being overheard.

"I was trying to help you! And being a gangster's errand boy is any better?" Paolo was finally discharged from hospital, and the brothers celebrated at a bar near the university.

"They're not gangsters, they're patriots! And I'm not an errand boy, either! You won't believe what I can do, how many people listen to me!"

"Would Mama think so?"

"I know Papa does!" Dino slammed his beer on the table.

"How? How would you know? When was the last time you visited?"

Dino smirked. "I know he has a new uniform, one that fits. And I know that no one bothers him anymore. He has a cell all to himself now, and all the books he wants."

Paolo gaped. "What? How? You mean ..."

"I told you - I'm not an errand boy. Also, your hospital bills are paid for. Thought you might want to know that."

Paolo could only nod. But, he felt bile rising in his throat at what this all meant. He knew he should be grateful, but...

Dino glared at him. "Don't look at me like that! I'm doing this for you! You talked about what Mama would have wanted? She would have wanted  _you_  to finish  _Università_ , that's what she would have wanted. You were always the smart one, so if one of us has to drop out, it should be  _me!_ "

"She never said that. She loved us both the same! Papa, too! And if we're talking about what she would have wanted, she would have wanted  _both of us_  to graduate." Paolo's hands floated between them, his fingers tensed into claws.

"Well, that's not going to happen is it? I've pledged my loyalty to  _Il Lega_ , and they've been very good to me."

"I... I can't do this."

"What can't you do, go back to  _La Università_?" Dino clasped his hands over Paolo's. "You must. Remember what you were thinking when you crashed the Fiat?"

Paolo nodded.

"That's what I'm doing now. The same exact thing. Would you have wanted me to throw away the life insurance money if you _had_  died?"

Paolo slowly shook his head. He couldn't meet his brother's imploring eyes.

"Let me, then. Let me do for you what you tried to do for me. The same exact thing. But this way, no one has to die."

_At least not at that time..._

Ξ§§§Ξ

"Officer Di Tomaso? The Chief wants to talk to you." Ms. Lee was as efficient and brusque as usual, though her voice seemed to hold a touch more hostility than usual to Paolo.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Paolo stood in Captain Rubbia's office, ignoring the two guest chairs.

"Paolo, this conversation never happened.  _Capice?_  I'm giving you a chance to come clean before anything official happens."

Bewildered, Paolo stole a glance at one of the chairs.

The Captain nodded, and Paolo sat slowly, his mind in turmoil. "Come clean about ... about what, exactly?"

"As I said, we're not having this talk. We're talking about ..." He picked up a file folder. "Your recent arrest record. Which is excellent, by the way. The Anti-Mafia Special Tasks Department has someone saying that you're running a gang. No, not just in a gang, but  _running_  one. A  _capo_. He said he saw you at some bigshots-only meeting." He leaned back. "It's stupid, but I wanted to be sure you're ... well, that you're really who you say you are."

Paolo's temples felt crushed. His chest tightened.  _I know who he saw. I know. I know!_

"Paolo, are you well?"

"Oh. Uh, it's just that ... I was so ... so worried. I mean, these unsubstantiated rumours can destroy careers. I've read about it."

"Well, you've got a great record, and a good trajectory. If you give me your word it's not you, then I'll do whatever I can to keep this from even touching your shadow."

Paolo nodded. "It's not me, Captain Rubbia. I swear it ... I swear it on my mother's grave!"

His eyes suddenly bright with inspiration, he stood and raced out the Captain's office.

Ξ§§§Ξ

In the years since they lived near Monticelli, the  _Parco Regionale del Delta del Po_  was pared back by new development, but this one tree still remained, deep in the heart of the park.

"Herr Di Tomaso? Could I ask you to raise your hands and turn around please?"

Paolo nodded. "I'm unarmed."

The man expertly brushed his contours, then ran a firm hand pressing against every square centimeter. He even give Paolo's sack an uncomfortably tight squeeze.

"He's clean, Herr Torrecelli."

"Thank you, Hans. Could you wait in the car?" Dino stepped out from behind a copse of trees. "Brother."

"Signore ... Torrecelli?" Paolo furrowed his brow.

Dino stepped into the pool of moonlight. His face was changed. His cheeks wider; his nose, sharper. His eyes, they were still the same ones Paolo saw each morning in the mirror. "Yes. Signore Torrecelli. Marius, to my friends. Remember, Dino Di Tomaso is dead. It's better that way, for both of us, no?"

Paolo nodded. "Well, I know of at least two coworkers who have family members in prison. I'm sure there are many more who have ... shall we say, apples falling on both sides of the fence?"

"It's better for me. There are some who would not lose any sleep after hurting you to get to me. I still love you, brother. I follow your success. I can't say I ... like your change in career, but," Dino shrugged. "It gives me another reason to keep tabs on you. This way, I'll make sure you don't have to be the one to arrest me." He laughed.

Paolo forced one out a chuckle as well. "Thank you for coming."

"Well, it was certainly an  _interesting_  way to get a message across.  _Dog grave, full moon._ " Dino help up the floral card.

"I couldn't think of any way to reach you aside from leaving that at Mama and Papa's grave."

"Hey, don't forget, I'm buried there, too!" Dino laughed again. "But, we can't meet again - what'll be the point in me being buried if other people see you meeting me."

"Only when it's important, then. I'm here to ask you for a favor. There's someone who said I'm a ... well, a gangster. Our anti-corruption people are starting an investigation on me."

Dino nodded. "I can see how this could be inconvenient."

"Look, I just want to meet him. I'm sure I can convince him he's mistaken."

Dino nodded again. "I'll see what I can do."

Ξ§§§Ξ

"Paolo?"

Paolo closed the locker. "Yes, Captain Rubbia?" It was odd to see The Chief in the showers, and so late.

"You know that ... thing I told you two weeks ago? Well, don't worry about it."

"Thank you, sir. How did you, uh, fix it?"

"Me?" The older man gave a tight, nervous laugh. "I didn't do anything. Their witness vanished."

 


	17. Paolo Chapter 5: Two Requests

**_Paolo_  Chapter 5: Two Requests**

Paolo sat in the cafe for half an hour, then went to the restroom. He had chosen this place because the restroom was around the corner from the bar and tables, and next to the closet-sized kitchen. He waited in the bathroom for a minute, then slipped past the kitchen and out the back door. He had spotted a possible tail, a dark-haired man in a dark grey leather jacket sitting by the opposite wall, but didn't see him emerge from the back of the cafe.

A few quick turns later, and he was on a bus heading toward the more interesting part of town. Though he didn't see the grey-jacketed man, Paolo still looked out for any other followers.

The wharf area was like so many others Paolo had seen in his career. The streets were slick with fish-slime. Many windows were boarded up, and the walls were tattooed with spray paint over spray paint as different gangs battled. What buildings weren't piers and warehouses were bars on the ground floor and rent-a-hovels above.

One of these hotels was different. Its bar had a back room, as many others did. The back room was gaudy, with shimmering curtains lining all the walls and was always occupied, not by any flashy would-be-gangsters, but by dock workers playing dominoes or cards. That's what they looked like, at least. Paolo knew better.

He waited for the round to finish, then exchanged the right phrases with the man seated by a door he knew was hidden by the fuchsia drapes. He descended the stairs to a sub-basement three stories underground, and that was very unusual indeed. He found Massimiliano D'Acampo reclining in his armchair surrounded by three folding banquet tables, each displaying a very large, field-stripped firearm. Beyond them lay piles of wooden crates, neatly stacked and labeled.

"Paolo! You look like you lost a fight."

Paolo touched his left eye and winced. "I forgot about that. No, I won the fight all right. Three of them, one of me."

D'Acampo fought his way out of the recliner, then limped to his rolling shop stool. He patted the nearest table. "So I can't interest you in an Anzio 20mm rifle? Three shots in the box, one for each of them."

Paolo laughed. "No, I don't need that. Remember, I  _won_ , Massim. Besides, it was just an unfriendly chat. I had some questions for them. If I wanted them dead, it would have been much easier. Easier, but not really an option these days."

"So, no longer with the SISMI?" D'Acampo raised an eyebrow. He was an unofficial supplier for the Italian military intelligence agency, when they needed materiel not available through public sources.

"No, just a  _Carabinieri_ these days. A falling out with my boss's boss. I'm here on my own  _lira_."

"So long as you're here with  _anybody's_ lira, you're my brother. So what are you looking for?" D'Acampo stroked his salt-and-pepper goatee lightly.

"Well, to start with, I want a blocked barrel for my Beretta 90-Two." Paolo drew it from his shoulder holster very slowly with his left hand holding the slide.

"They let you keep that?"

Paolo nodded. "They said I had cut so many notches in the grip that it was falling apart, that no one would want it. I think my boss just wanted to show it wasn't his idea to reclassify me."

"I could replace them, you know." The arms dealer gave him a wink and a smile.

Paolo closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "No need. I think the barrel will take care of that."

"You know, I could dummy up a 92F so it looks like your 90-Two. Rail, smoothed edges, and a blank-firing barrel."

"No, Massim. Not blank firing. Blocked. I want a steel bar welded into the barrel so the round can chamber, but if it's fired..."

D'Acampo blinked. "What? It'll shatter the gun. Why do you want to do that? I can make it as good as new! Besides, it could take someone's hand off."

"Hm... Let's try to make it more than a 'could.' Can you load some 9mm rounds with Semtex? In place of powder?"

"If you say so. Waste of a good gun." D'Acampo sighed. "All right. I should be able to have one for you in two weeks."

Gingerly, Paolo touched his eye again. "Good. This should be healed by then. Can I ask you to keep this between us?"

"Of course, of course." D'Acampo paused. "Three-on-one, eh? Surprised you only have that one little souvenir."

"You can check me out if you want - no new scars, no bruises." He looked at his hands, the scabbed knuckles. "Well, aside from these, of course."

"I gotta ask. How'd you do it? Those aren't very good odds, or were they not very good opponents."

"Oh, they were very good. I just ... turned out the lights on them. There was only one lamp in the room, and when things started going south, first thing I did was knock it over."

The arms merchant tilted his head, not quite following.

Paolo nodded. "Well, back in SISMI, we had this one thing called the 'Jump House.' It was practical hand-to-hand training - no pads, no open grounds. Rooms, furniture, walls. Messy and crowded, just like real life. They'd pull all sorts of tricks on us trainees. One of their favourites was blinding us - strobes, smoke, or just pulling the plug. I got very good at fighting by Braille."

"Ha! I'll have to remember that line."

"I can complete a shoot house by sound, too. Well, with  _some_ ambient light, but not a lot. I'm not as good as I need to be, though. I'll need to practice more. You never know..."

D'Acampo narrowed his eyes and began a slow, sly smile. "I thought you said you were out of the spy game."

"I am, but the game isn't done with me. Not yet, anyhow. Now, I have an idea about a cell-phone battery that's a combination of a functional mini-battery, a flash-bang and a smoke bomb..."

Ξ§§§Ξ

Paolo walked out of the farmhouse, a commandeered Glock 26 in hand. Tendrils of smoke followed him out.  _Just like old days._  The scream behind him as his 90-Two blew up. Him falling forward, feigning being shot. The muffled explosion as he covered his ears, the hood shielding his eyes from the flash-bang. The instinct of stepping toward the confused shouts, finding throats, dislocating joints, and disarming disorganized opponents.

He glanced at the compact pistol, his little finger curled beneath the too-short grip.  _One left in the magazine, one in the pipe._  Habits instilled from being a policeman for five years made him remember each shot, account for each round.  _Eight shots. Two for the tall one. One for the wheezy cougher. Two for the shouter. Three for the mute. Well, he could have been a mute._  All he knew was he put three rounds into the guy, and his target dropped without a saying a word. Very odd.

Well, if that's the only thing that doesn't make sense, I'm doing better than usual. For once, everything went according to plan. He stared at the farmhouse. The smoke was starting to clear.  _Everything, that is, expect this huge mess_.

 


	18. Paolo's Epilogue

**_Paolo's_ Epilogue**

"...and that's when I called the locals." Paolo looked away from the older woman with the Russian accent and swept-back, mannish, silver hair. He found himself looking at the pretty brunette operating polygraph.

"I see. So why did you make this detour to meet him? How did you expect it would go?"

He turned back to face her. She had a severe face, humorless and almost aristocratic. "I hoped we could say goodbye and be done with it. Also, as part of a counter-terrorism force, I could no longer avoid his separatist activities as I did before." Paolo paused. "I guess I was there to tell him that he was no longer my brother, that he was dead to me."

"An interesting way to put it, seeing as you conspired with him to fake his own death. How do -"

"Listen. My brother  _is_  dead to me. He chose a path I cannot go, and cannot even abide anymore. He is no longer Dino Di Tomaso anymore. If he wants to be Marius Torrecelli, then let him."

"And why the change in heart?"

"The bombings. The killing. The Five Republics crazies have become more indiscriminate in their 'acts of patriotism.'"

She smiled. It creased her face, did nothing to soften her countenance. "They've been bombing even before the Croce attack. That one was just the most ... photogenic of their excesses."

"Look, I just want to stop them. What more do you need?"

She leaned back and templed her fingers. "I'll know it when I see it. What I see now is a man, thirty-four, who helped his own brother, a Padania leader, evade capture for years. I see a police officer who violated his sacred vow when he put on the uniform. I see someone who was going to try to join our agency with this still a secret."

"As I said already, my brother is dead. He died a while ago, when he stopped thinking of what our parents expected from us. He died ... when he made that witness disappear. That's when he stopped being my brother."

"So, if we were to order you to kill him. Kill him. Not capture.  _Kill_. If we were to order you to do that, would you have any issues?"

"None."

She looked at the brunette. What was her name? Patricia? Priscilla? P-something.

The brunette nodded.

"All right. But, we don't have to ask you to do that."

"You're counting on me to do it as a matter of course?"

"No, you did it already. Your account said there were five people in the farmhouse. Four of them you shot, and the fifth was caught by your booby-trapped gun. There were only three bodies in the house, though, none of them with hand trauma. We suspect Signore Hand took our missing person with him."

"But my brother...?"

She sighed. "From your record, I would have expected you to have grasped this by now. The missing person is almost for sure your brother, the one you shot three times. Blood at the scene matches your blood type, and we have a request for DNA testing outstanding. Per the forensic technicians,  _'given the amount of blood found at the scene, if the donor was not already dead, he would be dead in a matter of minutes.'_ "

Paolo blinked.

"You already killed him, Paolo."

 


	19. Volume 1 Epilogue

Volume 1 Epilogue

_Dear Diary,_

_Signore Paolo gave you to me to write in every day._

_What do I say here? I guess I could start with how I first met Signore Paolo._

_It's so strange. Have you ever looked at someone and fell in love? I remember reading that in fairy-tale books, and wishing it would be me. Now it is!_

_What's he like? Well, he's quiet most of the time. No, not quite. He's calm. We talk a lot, but he always talks quietly. We spend a lot of time together, practicing, learning things. Like today, I learned a little Krav Maga (such as how to pronounce it! Ha! Ha!) then some target practice. Yes, with a real gun!_

_Signore Paolo gave it to me. It's a Beretta 90-Two. 1.1 kg loaded, 17+1 rounds of 9 x 19mm. Short-recoil operation, integral recoil buffer, locked breech firing._

_That's really strange, Diary. I don't know what most of that means. I know how to say it, how to write it, but I don't know what it means. I don't remember where I learned it, either. I remember knowing it, like I knew this forever, but I don't remember learning it. Strange, huh?_

_Oh, well._

_Back to Signore Paolo. He was visiting me in the hospital. That's when I met him. I opened my eyes, and there he was. He was so handsome (still is!) that I wanted to cry. He was wearing this beautiful grey suit, and he had this white box with him. He gave it to me, and I was so happy. He told me to open it, and it was the Beretta! My very own!_

_You know what, Diary? It's funny. I don't think I like the Beretta. It's so big! And heavy! The rail, you know, the ridges up front? It feels weird, like it's going to pinch me. The big handle is all chewed up, too. It has these little chips cut out of the wood, like someone was bored or something._

_But Signore Paolo gave it to me, and I love it because it's from him. I guess that makes sense, doesn't it? Thanks for listening, Diary!_

_Love,_

_Dina_

Ξ§§§Ξ

_Dear Favianne,_

_I don't know if this is what's best for Alessia. I don't know what's best anymore. Captain Raballo spoke very highly of Signore Di Tomaso from their days in the Carabinieri, but I don't know. He seems such a cold man. Last week, he killed his own brother, and yesterday, when we interviewed him about it, that needle didn't budge. That's really scary, to talk about shooting your own brother, and to not show any sign it's affecting you._

_Given some of the other handlers, Signore Di Tomaso may fit right in. The handlers here are so very different. Look at Jean and Giuseppe - they're opposites, and yet, they're brothers. One is so cold, so indifferent to his cyborg, and the other treats her like she's his sister. Or Victor - if he hadn't ended up with us, he might have been an excellent teacher._

_Earlier today, we watched when they woke her for the first time. Her eyes are so much like yours. So deep a brown, and so expressive. She looked at Signore Di Tomaso and smiled so big. We both know it's from the conditioning, but she looked happy._

_She looked so very happy._

_I guess I just wanted you know that, sorella. That Alessia is happy here._

_Your sorellina,_

_Priscilla_


End file.
